


Ouija

by anonniemoose



Series: Beetlejuice Oneshots [2]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Beetlejuice is dyslexic but it affects his spelling more than his reading, F/M, Haunting, Ouija Board, chapter one is in readers pov, chapter two is in beetlejuice's pov, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonniemoose/pseuds/anonniemoose
Summary: You find a Ouija board and end up communicating with a ghost who has trouble spelling. Together you figure out a way for him to communicate with you a little bit easier.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader
Series: Beetlejuice Oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562617
Comments: 15
Kudos: 351





	1. Chapter 1

It had started out innocently enough. You were bored and decided to spend the day exploring your new attic. You found a box filled with old games and decided that you wanted to sort through them, see if any were unusual or rare that you could keep. Most of them, you planned to donate somewhere, or put them back into storage.

You weren’t expecting much. Maybe a torn-up game of Twister, or Mouse Trap. Half a pack of Uno cards, or a ruined game of Trouble, and for the most part, you got what you expected. But when you found the Ouija board, you were a little surprised. Most of the games were for children, and weren’t in good enough nick to keep, let alone play. But the Ouija board looked like it just came out of the factory that created it. You go to lift the case from the bottom of the box, surprised by how heavy it was when you started to lift, nearly dropping it twice when you finally got it out and onto the table in front of you. Carefully, you lift the lid.

No wonder it was heavy. The Ouija board was wooden, and bigger than you were expecting. The dark wood had been engraved with the usual things a Ouija has, Yes, No, Goodbye, numbers 0-9 and every letter of the alphabet, the outside decorated with various designs you couldn’t make out in the dark. The one you could recognise was the pentagram engraved between the Yes and the No on the board. The planchette was also heavy, made from the same wood as the board, engraved with just two x’s, indicating where to put your finger.

You look over at the board as you hold the planchette in your hands. You were bored, yes. The attic was now in a state, yes. But the urge to test out the Ouija board was beginning to get too great. You organise yourself on the floor, placing the planchette in the middle of the board and just…. waiting. Not really sure on what to do now.

“Uh…hello?” Your voice is uncertain before you yelp when the cursor on the board begins to move. Yes, your fingers are on the x’s, but you weren’t providing any pressure. It just moved on its own.

 _‘H – I.’_ The cursor spells out as your brain sort circuits as it returns to the centre of the board.

“Uhhhhh.” You pause, not sure how to proceed. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” The planchette seems to shake a little before moving towards the ‘No’ part of the board, returning to the centre. “You don’t want to tell me?” It moves back to the ‘No’. “That’s ok then. Can I ask if you’re really dead?” It moves to the ‘Yes’. “Is that yes I can ask, or yes you are?”

 _‘YES, I – A – M – D – E – D.’_ You repeat the phrase once you’ve spelt out the letters quietly to show you’re aware of which letter the ghost was indicating with. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d get a response, or one so soon.”

_‘F – L – G – U – R – E – D.’_

“Can I ask some questions about life after death?” You wait for the cursor to move over the Yes before continuing. “Is there a hell?”

So, it continued. Every day, after work, you’d come home and race up to the attic and spend time talking to your ghostly friend, who still wouldn’t tell you their name. All you knew was they were dead, had been for centuries, were bored, and were something called a bio-exorcist (which took a couple of attempts to spell). You also learnt that any form of parental figure, they hated, and any form of rules and regulations was not something they enjoyed.

You also noticed that they had a weird tendency to refuse certain questions or struggled to spell words correctly when they did. Sure, exorcist, intelligence and February weren’t easy words to spell when you weren’t writing them down, but replacing b’s for d’s and p’s for q’s, c’s for o’s and n’s for m’s. There were a lot of little things you picked up over time made you think perhaps there was more to this story.

So, you changed direction. One evening, you were talking about work and things that annoyed you and a question you thought they’d be fine answering, but the planchette just started to shake. You pause for a second, trying to figure out what was wrong. “Do you want to answer the question?” The cursor slides quickly and heavily to the ‘Yes’, causing you to move your whole body with it before it tentatively returns to the centre of the board. You think for a second as the planchette continues to vibrate with what feels like annoyance. “Can you spell the answer?” The planchette stops moving and everything is still. It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. You wait for thirty seconds before you say “Hello?” and like that, the cursor slowly, tentatively, goes over towards the ‘No’ part of the board followed by a ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-E-E-M-A-B-A-D-S-P-E-L-E-R. “Oh. That’s ok, I’m pretty rubbish without spell check too. Take your time.” Everything stops for a second, the energy that is always humming when you’re up here seems to have dropped to a low throb, and you slowly remove your hands from the planchette as you think.

 _‘How can I make this easier for them?’_ You hum for a second before returning your hands to the board. “Would you prefer yes or no questions?” The planchette slides quickly over to the ‘Yes’ and you smile. “Ok, if something isn’t a yes or no question, I’ll provide answers and you can slide to the numbers to tell me which one is appropriate. Does that work?” Again, ‘Yes’.

Life moves on. It was weird at first, but you got used to asking only yes or no questions and becoming content with that as a response. A few more weeks went by, you slowly began to spend more time talking to the ghost in the attic. It was fascinating, and you were lonely and suspected they were too. Why else would they talk to you night after night after night? You never brought up the idea that perhaps they may have been lonely, but you focused on making sure like they felt like they had a friend.

A few more weeks had passed before you came up with a new idea. As good as it was to make them feel like they weren’t stupid for their spelling, you felt like you were muting them or speaking on their behalf. So, on your Saturday evening as you ate your dinner and you asked a question about if they enjoyed scaring people whenever they got the chance and the planchette moved by its own accord, you stared down at the board for a few minutes in shock. “You can move things WITHOUT me helping?”

‘Yes.’

“Why the fuck do I have to hold it then?” You forget to offer options as you take a breath, hearing the planchette slide across the board. “Its fine, I was just in shock.” You explain, not looking at what the ghost was being said. An idea pings in your head. “With your bad spelling, does it affect your reading or is it easier? One for both are hard, two for reading is easier.”

The planchette wobbles for a second before it slides over between the two. ‘R-E-A-D-I-M-G-I-S-S-T-I-L-L-H-A-R-D.’ It spells out. ‘B-UT-N-O-T-A-S-H-A-R-D-A-S-S-P-E-L-I-M-G.’

You can sense the confusion in the room as you nod, already thinking of a plan. “Have you always struggled with reading and spelling?” ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-U-T-I-N-J-U-S-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’ You you’re your heart break slightly when they call themselves that. “Sweetheart, have you ever heard of the term dyslexia?” ‘No’. “It’s where your brain struggles to recognise letters or sounds, it makes it hard for people to read and write. They often miss letters or get letters mixed up, or sometimes even add letters that aren’t meant to be there.” You explain gently. “I think you may have the same kind my friend has. He reads a lot even though it’s a struggle, but if you get him to spell, he’s absolutely hopeless. Amazing at math, though. Like a walking calculator.” You smile as you get distracted before you shake your head and bring yourself back to the present. “I don’t think you’re stupid, love, I think perhaps your brain just isn’t wired to like letters and words.” You explain as you fiddle with your hands, unsure on where to put them. The planchette doesn’t move, but you can feel the air growing thicker.

‘N-O-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’ – the planchette draws a question mark over the entire board. You shake your head.

“Not stupid at all, pet.” A few seconds pass before the planchette moves over to the ‘Goodbye’ section. You sigh, slightly disappointed that they wanted to leave so soon. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You ran late to work the next day, replaying the conversation in your head with your resident ghost over and over again as it kept you up later and later into the night. Your plan wasn’t well thought out at this stage, but you could get things started.

You stay late after work to make up for the hour that you missed this morning before rushing to the bookshop, making it there 10 minutes before they closed. You found what you wanted and quickly purchased it before rushing home, making sure to grab something for dinner as you drive home.

The moment you arrived home and placed your bags by the front door, the house felt empty. For the first time since using the Ouija board, the house felt like you were the only one in it. Pulling out the Ouija board, you asked if they were here. Nothing. You put your fingers on the planchette. Nothing again. You call out to them to see if they were there, nothing. You sigh before packing it back up. Perhaps your new-found friend had moved on.

It was a few days before your ghostly friend returned. The house had felt barren the entire time they were gone, you had stopped bringing out the board the day they returned, figuring that they just weren’t going to come back. A loud crash from the living room caused you to run out from the kitchen where you were preparing dinner to see what had happened. On the floor was the Ouija board, set up and ready to go with the planchette moving wildly across the board, so fast you couldn’t keep up.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on.” You rush back upstairs to grab the item you had purchased for them the week prior before rushing back downstairs and putting it next to the board with a satisfying thud. “I got you a dictionary, they had one with pictures which I thought could help.” You explain to where you hoped the ghost was. You put a pen in front of the giant book. “Just…. point I guess to the word you want to say. If you want to try it this way that is, I thought it might be easier for you.”

The air seemed thick as you waited for something to move, the planchette or the book. Suddenly, the cover of the book seemed to gingerly open as the ghost slowly looked for the words he was looking for. ‘IT-IS-EASIER’ they indicated with the pen. You smile as the pages begin to turn in a flurry, clearly excited to be able to communicate with you a bit easier.

So, life continued. The ghost (who you later found out was a man) would follow you from room to room, carrying the pen and the book to indicate different words to you, making comments on nearly everything that he wasn’t able to before, from the shade of paint on your walls (he thought they should be green) to what you were wearing (he was really into you wearing stripes for some reason), he would readily give your opinion on everything. It was weird, but you could feel yourself slowly falling for the now forever talking ghost. The freedom that came with the dictionary meant that your conversations become more…. conversation like. He wasn’t restricted to just yes or no answers, and you weren’t restricted to staying in one room. You found yourself having dinners next to the constantly page flipping book and laughing at his bad jokes and giving some back of your own. You found small doodles on the outside of the dictionary too, his own little crude drawings he did when you weren’t home. It was nice, it felt like some kind of perverse kind of domestic.

It had been months since your initial contact with him, and you still didn’t know his name and, to be honest, it was beginning to bug you. You didn’t say or show your annoyance about not knowing his name, but you figured it was time you knew. So, when you came home that night and had set up your dinner in your usual set up, you finally decided to ask. “Can I know your name?”

It took a minute before your squatter decided to respond. ‘ORION-BRIGHT-STAR’.

“Orion’s brightest star?” You say, almost as a question as you pull out your phone to do a quick Google. “Beetlejuice?” You look up to see a fury of pages flying as he quickly makes his way over to the ‘A’ section of the dictionary.

‘AGAIN’

“Beetlejuice?”

The pen slams back down on the page. ‘AGAIN.’

You hesitate. “Beetlejuice?”

There was a crash, a bang, and way too much smoke that filled the room as bright green lights seemed to radiate from outside your house. You cough and wave your hand to clear the smoke from your mouth when you finally hear it.

“Thanks for that babes, I’ve been wanting you to see me for months now.” You blink before you see him. He was-

Cuter than you were expecting. Shorter too. Not the scary man you had envisioned, but rather an adorable guy dressed in arguably way too many stripes, even though it seemed to suit. The green in his hair was vibrant and his whole being seemed to shake with excitement. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

“What’s wrong babes? Cat got your tongue?” He leans in closer to take a better look at you, but all you could focus on was the bright green of his eyes.

“You’re hotter than I imagined.” You heard yourself say before you turn bright, bright red. The grin on his face widens as he chuckles lowly, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh babes, we are going to have so much fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started because Beetlejuice was forced onto Ouija board duty, but God/Satan was he glad he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the first chapter from Beej's perspective. He needs a hug goddamit.
> 
> My tumblr remains to be the-ineffable-prince-of-hells, hmu if you want more beej or dewey content

Letters always looked a little funny to Beetlejuice. They just never seemed right whenever he tried to look at them. His spelling had always been atrocious, and even though reading was slightly better, it was still a struggle.

He got by without it though, and in his line of work, who needs the ability to read?

But then, he got caught doing something that the courts apparently thought he shouldn’t of. He doesn’t know how that sandworm managed to get into the mall, regardless of the fact that he was riding it, honest! But then he got stuck on Ouija duty.

It. Sucked.

Having to talk to curious teens who were really in over their heads, only to be mocked because he confuses his m’s for n’s or whatever. He made sure to give every single one of them the fright of their lives for being such little shits.

It was his last day, thank God/Satan, when he was summoned to this breather’s house. At your greeting, his mouth twisted into a huge grin at the uncertainty in your voice. This was gonna be so much fun.

His hands quickly move to cover your wrists, not that you’d feel that, and quickly moves over the board to greet them. ‘H-I.’ He slowly moves the planchette to the centre of the board, enjoying the look of pure and utter shock on the breather’s face.

“Uhhhhhh.” Oh, this was just delightful. You clearly didn’t expect him to come and watching your innocent little mind work to try and figure this out was just adorable. “I’m Y/N.” Finally, you say, pausing before asking your question. “What’s your name?”

A pit forms in his stomach. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he could spell it. He definitely couldn’t say it, he didn’t know if spelling it bypassed that stupid, stupid law about being a demon. But he knew he couldn’t spell his own name. His body shakes, causing the breather’s hands to vibrate as he tries to figure out an answer. Finally, he gives in and slides the planchette to the no, trying to ignore the embarrassment crawling up his skin.

“You don’t want to tell me?” Your voice isn’t judgemental or demanding, you just want to confirm. The planchette slides over to no, because he really, really does want to tell you. Maybe tonight could get interesting. Unfortunately, you didn’t read his answer as that. “That’s ok then. Can I ask if you’re really dead?”

Beetlejuice pulls a face, what did you think this was? A parlour trick? He slides the cursor over to the yes. “Is that yes I can ask, or yes you are?” It takes all of his energy not to roll his eyes right now.

‘ _YES, I – A – M – D – E – D._ ” You repeat each letter to him before reading the sentence. There is a long pause as you figure out what you want to say next, Beetlejuice already buzzing out of boredom and the need to _move_. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d get a response, or one so soon.” This time, Beetlejuice does roll his eyes as he moves the planchette over the board smoothly, letting you read each letter loudly and clearly for him.

_‘F – L – G – U – R – E – D.’_

You seem to have a small smile when you realised, he was sassing you. Finally, you came up with a question. “Can I ask some questions about life after death?” Beej moves your hands over to the ‘Yes’. Why not? He hasn’t got anything better to do. “Is there a hell?”

And, so it began. Beetlejuice technically finished up Ouija duty that day, but something about you kept him coming back. You never mocked him, even though he knew that by now he would have made some massive spelling errors which would have required some thinking to figure out what he actually meant. No. You were…..kind. Patient, even. You took the time to wait for him to struggle with larger words and never mentioned anything about how slow it took him, or how horrid his spelling was. You would come home, race upstairs with some form of dinner for yourself, and spend the time just. Talking to him. It was odd, he never had anyone interested in doing that. But it was nice.

He told you things about him he once thought he’d never tell a living soul, about the boredom and the loneliness that came with being dead. You spoke about being lonely and unfulfilled at work, mentioning a few attempts at your own life a few years back, but you were in a much better place now, even though the loneliness lingered. He learnt about you and the more he was told, the more he wanted to hear. You told him about your imaginary friend growing up who inexplicitly died in a car accident three days before your grandmother did. You spoke about how you wanted to change careers but weren’t sure on what path to take, so you did the responsible adult thing and stayed put. You spoke about feeling crippled and betrayed by your own brain and how it always ate you that you should have control over it, yet don’t.

Beetlejuice related to that a little harder than he realised.

He’d hate to admit it, but he started getting flustered around you. Even just getting ready to hold your wrists to move them around was beginning to make him nervously excited. No breather had ever done that to him before. It was odd.

When you asked if he worked in his afterlife, it took him five attempts to spell his profession. You simply asked for it again, apologising each time before slowly figuring it out and grinning at the idea of a ghost removing humans, thinking that sometimes it was only fair. You never brought it up again, once you got what he was saying, you moved on.

But he couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that something so simple was affecting the way you communicated.

Eventually, you caught on. You were smart like that, he liked that about you. Not a dumb fuck like him. You were ranting and raving about work and how annoying your job was and finally you asked him a question. A question he couldn’t even begin to answer. He felt his body shaking, mind rapidly overthinking to try to come up with a solution. You notice, and your demeanour changes, your angry and annoyed features turning soft. “Do you want to answer the question?” You ask gently. He instantly snaps your hands over to the word ‘Yes’. He so desperately wants to talk, but he just can’t. Too many words, too long, it wouldn’t end well. He slowly moves back to the centre, slightly embarrassed at his reaction to the question. The silence that follows is deafening, he could feel his anxieties begin to flare and eat at his stomach, causing him to vibrate your hands out of both nerves and annoyance. Annoyance that it has to be this hard. “Can you spell the answer?”

His stomach drops. He could lie, but then he’d have to write the answer out, and that was more nerve wracking than being honest. It felt like forever he was weighing up his options, a small ‘hello?’ from your lips breaking him from his thoughts. He takes a breath and slowly moves the cursor over to the ‘No’, the ugly gnawing at his stomach growing worse the closer he gets to the answer. He’s quick to justify himself though, he felt the need to explain. He had no idea why. ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-E-E-M-A-B-A-D-S-P-E-L-E-R.’ He waits for the mockery, but it doesn’t come.

“Oh. That’s ok, I’m pretty rubbish without spell check too. Take your time.” He looks at you in shock, jaw wide open. You are nothing like the breather’s he had to spend the six months prior to your summoning interacting with. If they had heard that, they would have ripped him to shreds. Why were you like this?

When your hands move away from the planchette, he felt the impending doom of you never talking to him again. Body rocking slightly as his eyes never leave you, he could practically feel the blue threading through his hair as you think over your options.

The second your hands reach back for the planchette, his hands are locked around your wrist, looking up at you like a madman. “Would you prefer yes or no questions?” Without even questioning, he slides your hands over to the ‘Yes’. Your smile lit up the entire room and he physically relaxed. “Ok, if something isn’t a yes or no question, I’ll provide answers and you can slide to the numbers to tell me which one is appropriate. Does that work?” Again, he slides the both of you over to the yes. Anything to keep talking to you.

It was weird at first, and kind of restricting only having a limited number of answers to chose from, but after some fumbling, the two of you fell into a rhythm. If nothing fit, Beej would just slide you both to the ‘No’ and you’d go through more answers. He slowly began to realise that every spare moment you had, you were talking to him. He felt important, he felt heard. He felt loved. He suspected that you were only talking to him to humour him, after all why else would you come up here night after night after night to talk to a dead guy? But he’d take what he could get and you did genuinely seem to care. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a friend. He wasn’t going to fuck this up, not this time.

A few weeks of these restrictions went by and, even though it was frustrating, he loved every second. The more time he spent with you, the more relaxed about himself he felt. Would he say he loved you? No. But then again, when would he ever admit to himself that he fell for a breather before he even had the chance to really talk to them. Really show them the real him? Fact of the matter is, he fell hard and he fell fast.

He nearly cocked things up though, one Saturday evening he watched you eat your dinner and you asked him a question about if he enjoyed scaring people. He got so excited to answer, he forgot to wait for your hands, simply grabbing the planchette and sliding it over to the ‘Yes’. When you stare at the board, he felt his anxieties play up again. 

Was that the wrong answer? 

The longer you stared, the more anxious he became.

“You can move things WITHOUT me helping?”

‘Yes.’ He feels horrible admitting this, and he doesn’t know why.

“Why the _fuck_ do I have to hold it then?” The anger in your voice, and the lack of options provided, causes his hair to instantly streak a nervous yellow and a terrified white and purple mix. He quickly slides the planchette over the board, repeating the same phrase over and over.

‘I – A – N – S – C – R – R – Y – P – L – E – A – S – E – D – O – M – T – B – E – N – A – D’

You don’t acknowledge what he’s saying, you simply explain your sudden outburst. “It’s fine, I was just in shock.” Beetlejuice instantly stops running the planchette over the board to look up at you, breathing heavy, clearly in a panic.

_‘So stupid Lawrence, why would anyone ever love you?’_

_‘Friends? Lawrence, you have no friends, who would want to be friends with such a stupid shit like you?’_

_‘Stop crying, Lawrence. No one likes a cry baby.’_

His mother’s voice keeps repeating in his head. Such a fuck up, he’s such a fuck up-

“-affect your reading or is it easier? One is for both are hard, two for reading is easier.”

Beej has to bite back his tears, his fully body shaking and rocking at the intensity of them. Slowly, he slides it over to the two, slowly spelling out a fuller explanation. ‘R-E-A-D-I-M-G-I-S-S-T-I-L-L-H-A-R-D–B-U–T -N-O-T-A-S-H-A-R-D-A-S-S-P-E-L-I-M-G.’

He’s confused as to why you’d ask a question. Surely you wanted nothing to do with him now? Surely you didn’t _actually_ want to talk to him anymore.

“Have you always struggled with reading and spelling?” Ok, surely now you were just mocking him. Surely you were just tryna find new ways to tease him once the fun was over. He was going to beat you to the punch.

Bitterly, he grabs the planchette and slides it across the wooden board. ‘A-L-W-A-Y-S-B-U-T-I-N-J-U-S-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’. There. That’d show ‘em.

He wasn’t prepared for the small noise of hurt when you finally piece the message together. You take a minute to take a breath, clearly holding back a rant about how he was not stupid, never has been and never will be, knowing that it would not help him in the slightest. Your voice is soft when you finally respond. “Sweetheart, have you ever heard of the term dyslexia?”

Beetlejuice blinks. What. What does that have to do with this? What’s with the sudden vocab lesson? He slides the cursor over to the ‘No’ part of the board, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s where you brain struggles to recognise letters or sounds, it makes it hard for people to read and write. They often miss letters or get letters mixed up, or sometimes even add letters that aren’t meant to be there.” Your voice is gentle and soft as you explain it to him. “I think you may have the same kind my friend has. He reads a lot even though it’s a struggle, but if you get him to spell, he’s absolutely hopeless. Amazing at math, though. Like a walking calculator.” Beej can’t help but smile when he sees you get lost in your thoughts. It was a common occurrence, but it never ceased to make him happy, and it never stopped being beautiful. You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. “I don’t think you’re stupid, love, I think perhaps your brain just isn’t wired to like letters and words.” He notices your fidgeting hands as you try to keep yourself from rambling. There’s something stuck at the back of his throat, years of his mother’s words now being contradicted and just to have a _word_ to explain why books were never his thing, why words always were better spoken instead of written.

Finally, Beej moves to take the planchette in hand and moves is slowly across the board, for the first time ever, his movements aren’t smooth. They are jerky, and unsure. ‘N-O-T-S-T-U-P-I-D’. He pauses before drawing a giant question mark on the board, indicating that it wasn’t a statement but an inquiry. When you shake your head furiously, he feels every part of him relax.

“Not stupid at all, pet.”

It’s too much. He can’t handle all of this. There is too much fighting going on in his head, his mother’s words versus yours and, in this moment, he doesn’t know who to trust. He does the one thing he feels will help him settle.

He moves to say goodbye.

He’s gone before he can hear the disappointment in your voice, just needing to be out of that room so he can figure out who to believe and what to do.

It doesn’t take him long, a day at most, to figure out that he trusts you more than he would ever trust his lying bitch of a mother. She was _wrong_ , and for the first time in forever he finally didn’t even have an inkling that she was right. She was just _wrong._

He spent the next few days observing you from a distance. Not in a creepy way – well, maybe in a creepy way but he was a demon! It’s what he does – but to see if for a second there was any hint that this was a set up. That you were taking him for a ride.

You tried to contact him every day, bringing out the board to ask if he was there. He purposefully made the house feel barren, as if you were talking to an empty room. You’d sigh and put the board away, continuing on your evening, even though it dampened your mood every time.

It took eight days for him to realise that you were genuine. You didn’t want and you weren’t going to hurt him. You just wanted to talk to him. Finally, the penny dropped and Beej realised that you only had his best interest at heart and that, despite never needing something like this before, he really just needed to talk to you. To interact with you.

He was going to wait until you’d finished dinner to indicated he wanted to talk but you were just taking too fucking long. He’d had the board set up for over an hour now, and you didn’t even seem to acknowledge it. So, he very casually knocked over the TV so it made a crash, making sure it was back in place and repaired before you came running in the door, face clearly concerned as Beetlejuice starts moving the planchette across the board, not even giving you time enough to read the letters or even see them. He was just so excited to see you.

You instantly are out of the room and running up the stairs. Beej felt his heart ache, perhaps he went too fast, too hard. That was always his biggest problem, that’s why he always ends up alo-

A loud thud next to him brings him back to reality. You are beaming as you looked at him right in the eye. For a split second, he was convinced you could see him. “I got you a dictionary, they had one with pictures which I thought could help.” You put the pen down with a giant grin, clearly pleased with your problem-solving skills. “Just…. point I guess to the word you want to say. If you want to try it this way that is, I thought it might be easier for you.”

Beetlejuice felt his whole body warm over, he is sure that his hair is bright pink when he realised that you thought about him after you finished talking. You cared enough to go out and get him something to help him communicate. You didn’t demonise the fact he struggled with words, you just adjusted to help. You didn’t want to silence him once you found out his limitations, you found a way to make it easier for him.

He was not used to something like this.

He gingerly opens the book, as if waiting for something to come out from between the pages to bite at him. The font is larger, and the capital letters are bolded which makes things easier for him. The font itself is easier for him to read. Slowly, he goes through the book to find the word he needed. ‘IT.’ He skims to the next word. ‘IS.’ Carefully he flicks back to the ‘E’. ‘EASIER.’ He looks up to see your entire body just seem to radiate with happiness. That’s all the comfort he needs before he starts to flick through the pages quickly, careful not to rip at them as he starts to talk about the days he wasn’t talking to you.

Beetlejuice was beyond happy to have an ability to actually talk, and now he had it, he couldn’t stop making comments. Everything he held back on, he could now say. Even just to be able to follow you and still be able to talk to you felt life changing to him. He loved to make you laugh, and it was so much easier than before, conveying sarcasm with the movements of his pen as he sassed his way across the pages. When he commented how your plain walls should be brighter, striped maybe, green was the colour to go with, you absolutely lose it. Giggling on the steps at the idea of having tricoloured striped walls everywhere is already causing you a headache, but the image of your landlord’s face if he ever saw that causes you to start giggling again, this time even harder.

It quickly became Beej’s favourite sound to hear, and it was even sweeter when he was the cause.

He quickly also became your fashion guru as a bit of a joke. The only advice he ever gave was one word. ‘STRIPES’. It got to the point where you didn’t even look over at him anymore, you’d just roll your eyes and simply say ‘let me guess, more stripes?’ and grin at the inside joke as Beej feels his blush rise up in his hair.

He noticed you started blushing more at his compliments and appeared to be even more excited to talk to him than before. Slowly, your conversations became more……conversation like. The lack of restrictions and being able to go from room to room meant that your talks were longer and more in depth. You started having dinner together at the table, you laughing at all of his lame jokes and attempts to impress you, occasionally throwing back a comment or two that he did not expect. You’d often end up curled against the couch next to each other, half watching whatever crappy show you could find and talking well into the morning. He’d be there in the morning during your zombie like state as you slowly got ready for work, making sure to say bye each and every time. He found himself reaching for your hand whenever you sat in comfortable silence but hesitating every single time. You couldn’t feel it, so what was the point?

Instead, he continued to talk. You seemed to enjoy it, even look forward to it. He had to admit, some of this was selfishness. He needed to be heard and, no matter what, you _listened_ , which is more that he could ever ask for. So, he gave comments on every little thing, and every single one you took into account. Even finding a black and white striped tank top to wear under your blazer one day, just to take the mick out of his obsession of them. He’s not gonna lie. You looked good in stripes, but you’d look even better in his.

The first time he drew on the book, it was an accident. He thought he was drawing on a spare envelope you gave him, but the ink went right through. He panicked, thinking that you would stop talking to him and assume him ungrateful for granting him the ability to actually speak. The room started to truly close in on him when you walked in and noticed the crude drawing along the margins of the pages. He couldn’t even look at you, surely, you’re gonna be so pissed.

“Ok, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

It felt like he was treading water, he could hear you but it felt distant. You…..you didn’t _sound_ mad. In fact…. you sound amused. 

‘NOT-MAD.’ Beej traces a question mark on the table next to the book. You look at his general direction, confused.

“Pet, this is your book. Do with it as you wish.” He felt his entire body relax, anxiety going back to its strong, background hum. Slowly, the margins began to fill with his own little tracings and drawings, each one you complimented. When he was beginning to run out of room, you got him an art book to keep him entertained when you were apart. He had free range of the apartment, but he didn’t want to risk losing you by ruining things or breaking anything. He definitely didn’t want to scare you off either. So, he’d pop out and do some haunting stuff during the day, but he always came home and had enough time to draw some pictures for you to have a look at when you got home.

It felt domestic. He thought he’d hate that, but he kinda likes it. It’s nice. He doesn’t like to think about it, but it was undeniable. For the first time ever, this house felt like home.

Months had passed since that fateful day where you first made contact when he noticed that you were slowly beginning to get annoyed by something. Was it work? Your friends? Your family? 

Was it him? 

He tried to expect the best but prepare for the worst, thinking over every conversation you’d had to see if he had said something that was turning you against him. It wasn’t until an unusually quite Friday evening that he finally found out what was on your mind.

“Can I know your name?”

Oh.

Yeah.

He forgot about that.

He tried to will his body over to the ‘B’ part of the dictionary, but it wouldn’t budge. Fuck, he thought that’d be a loop hole. He tries to figure out another way to tell you his name, and it hits him.

His namesake.

He flips over to the ‘O’ as he looks for the one word that he had drawn over and over during one of his many melancholy days. ‘ORION’.

To the ‘B’. ‘BRIGHTEST’.

Finally, to the ‘S’, and over to the one word where you had drawn your own little doodle of a diamond shaped star at his insistence. ‘STAR’.

“Orion’s brightest star?” You sound confused as you pull out your phone, typing in furiously. “Beetlejuice?”

He feels a surge of adrenaline when you say his name for the first time, it sounds perfect on your lips. Two more, he just needs two more.

He flicks through his book, every page a blur until he gets to the ‘A’, pointing at the word ‘AGAIN’ with a slight insistence. 

“Beetlejuice?”

Fuck, why didn’t he think of this before? It feels so good to hear his name after months pet names, he can practically feel his body shaking with excitement at you finally being able to see him.

He slams the pen back down on the page, ‘AGAIN’.

There is a pause. Just when he’s about to insist you say it one more time, it happens.

“Beetlejuice?”

The surge of power that comes over him is intoxicating and remains to be one of the most addictive feelings he’s ever experienced. He can’t help but be dramatic, it’s in his nature after all. A crash, a bang, and enough smoke that if you were asthmatic, he’s sure you’d need to be sent to hospital as he pops into view. The feeling of being invisible was very much one that he hated and being summoned was a different feeling all together. It was the closest feeling to being alive that he will ever have.

“Thanks for that babes, I’ve been wanting you to see me for months now.” He couldn’t wait to see your face.

Confusion, and conflict, and. Oh.

You found him attractive.

He smirks, feeling cocky as he watches you check him out. The excess energy is making him shake and vibrate in excitement. There is so much to _do_ and now he can actually _talk_ and _touch_ you.

You remain silent, clearly still processing the shock of seeing him. He can’t help but tease. “What’s wrong babes? Cat got your tongue?” He leans into your space, so close, but not touching. Not yet.

His voice seems to break you from your stupor as you look him dead in the eyes. “You’re hotter than I imagine.” Your cheeks flush as you turn bright red in embarrassment, but Beej loves the attention, the compliments. He can’t help the low chuckle that leaves his throat, enjoying the look of your shivering as a result. His mouth stretches into a wide grin.

“Oh babes, we are going to have so much fun-“ He lets out a small noise of surprise when you grab the back of his head and pull him down, forcing your lips to connect as you kiss him, something you’d been dying to do for months now. Teeth knocking together as you bit his lip, worming your tongue into his mouth so you can run them across every tooth and map out his mouth. When you pull back, he’s flustered, the tips of his hair are bright pink with the vibrant green near his roots, cheeks bright green.

This wasn’t where he expected this to go.

You take a breath and push Beej back when he leans in for more, giving a simple command. “Bedroom. Now.”

If you had told him that 8 months ago, this was the situation he would find himself in, he would have scoffed in your face and probably set you on fire. But, having gone through it all and ending up with this outcome? Let’s just say, he wasn’t complaining.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice can’t believe the two of you got into a fight over something so stupid. Still, at least now he has time to think over everything that has happened over the last eighteen months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally up! Thank I had so many issues getting this chapter up you wouldn't even believe the half of it. My laptop needed to get replaced, I spent time in the psych ward, Christmas, I got distracted, lost this fic that was originally around the 6k word mark. But, for those who follow me on tumblr (dilfyjuice.tumblr.com) I did also have a reblogging match with a friend where I said that I was gonna make this sad. I’d just like to state now, my loves, that this was always going to end like this. There is no God, only Beetlejuice. Enjoy.  
> And to everyone who is going to At me about the fact that Beej can teleport, Imma just gonna say this. Our boy is a Himbo. He has, as my beloved realmonsterboyhours on Tumblr would say, the Big Dumb. Hims feet be hurtin’ but he is too emotional to care.  
> This based off of Home from the musical

It was a small moment when you realised you loved Beetlejuice. You'd been unofficially dating for three months when it happened. You came home from work, looking positively dreadful. Drenched to the bone, shivering, lips tinted blue. You looked close to death. Beetlejuice took one look at you and was instantly shoving you into a warm shower, staying far away from the water as he watches you to make sure you don't pass out. The second you're back to your natural hue, he has you out, sipping a warm drink of your choice, covered in blankets in front of the television as he holds you close, being careful not to steal any precious heat from you.

Despite all his efforts, it didn't stop you from developing a fever the next day. You woke up sweaty, shivering and yet so, so hot. You instantly sought out Beej's sleeping body next to you, pulling him close and sighing happily at his lack of heat. Beetlejuice, on the other hand, hisses when he feels how hot you are. The demon didn't have much experience with sick humans, but he took care of you nonetheless. Made you eat soup and take medicine to help combat the fever, held you close as you napped and made sure you drank plenty of fluids. You don't remember much of the four days of the fever, Beetlejuice remembered every moment. Concerned that you were dying well before your time and that he wasn't able to help you plagued his every thought as you battle your sickness.

When the fever finally broke, you woke up in a fog, resting on Beetlejuice's chest as he silently and motionlessly sleeps. Like a corpse. Maybe it was the fever and drug-induced haze, maybe it was seeing him asleep, maybe it was the fact he waited on you hand and foot for four days straight, but the sudden warmth that filled your heart causes you to melt against him as you realised one thing. You absolutely, utterly, completely loved him.

For Beetlejuice, it also was a small moment. You had gotten over your fever a few days after your sudden realization but still hadn't told Beetlejuice about it. Another two months had passed since the fever incident and you fell back into your rhythm. Work started piling up and the two of you started to look after each other in the little things. Beetlejuice made sure you ate breakfast and dinner and checked in to make sure you'd eaten throughout the day, you made sure to text him photos during your day of random things you thought he'd like. You bought him a phone and taught him how to send voice messages and voice to text/text to voice and he made sure you had downtime where you didn't think about work. But, the Thanksgiving/Christmas rush was over and you and your colleagues decided to go out to celebrate. It took a lot of convincing to make Beetlejuice feel comfortable with you being away for so long, but you both compromised until he was comfortable. You would send photos every hour to show him you were safe, you'd leave your car at the bar and Uber home and if he felt concerned, he could call you at any point. You also said you'd be home before midnight, more because you didn't want to be out into the wee hours of the morning, but also because you wanted to give him a time frame to expect you to be home.

To be fair, you got home a lot earlier than either of you expected. You were also completely and utterly wasted.

Beetlejuice didn't even realise you were home until he heard you singing outside the door. "Mr Keeeyyyy, why won't you let me iiiinnnn. Let me iiinnnn, I want to kiss my boyfrieeennnnd." He snorts as he opens the door and you topple forward and into his arms. You look at the key in your hand in amazement. "Thank you, Mr Key, I love you." You press a kiss to the metal before you wrap your arms around Beej's waist in excitement. "Beej! I missed you!" Your words are loud and slurred, but Beetlejuice thinks it's adorable.

"Hey babes, did you have fun?" He asks, closing the front door as you nod against him. 

"Uh-huh. I drank a lot!" He chuckles as you look up at him, moving your hand to poke at his nose. "Boop. I win. Now I get a kiss." You state firmly as if the logic in your head made sense to the sober ghost.

"You're pissed, ain't ya toots?" He asks, but you ignore him, staring up at him expectantly. He sighs, leans down and presses a gentle kiss on your lips. He can feel you smile against his lips as you try, and fail, to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in for a deeper kiss.

“Mhm. We did shots!” You proclaim loudly and proudly. He looks down at you amused as you jump up a couple of times, pouting. “Carry me?” You finally ask, not understanding why your legs aren’t just magically around his waist.

“Of course, princess, come ‘ere.” He lifts you up effortlessly and carries you upstairs to the bedroom, you chatting away some story he doesn’t even both to try and keep up with. It’s all gibberish anyway. When he puts you down on the bed, he helps steady you before snapping up a bottle of water with the simple instruction to ‘drink’. He keeps an eye on you, not noticing the warm feeling in his belly that has been growing for weeks now.

“Beeeeej.” You call out when he disappears to find if you have any aspirin for the morning. “Beej come back I want to love yoooouuuu.” He rolls his eyes as he reenters the room, seeing you struggle to remove your slip-on heels. You fall flat on the bed and start giggling. “BJ, can you help me please?”

“Sure thing.” He strides over and easily and quickly slides your shoes off. “C’mon baby, time for bed.”

“Noooo.” You protest, grabbing his arms and pulling him to lay down beside you. “I wanna love you first.”

“Babes, I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind to be doing anythin’ with me tonight.” You shush him, pressing your finger against his lips.

“No not like that, you perv.” You giggle. “You need to know that I love you.”

“Babes, I know-”

“No, shush!” You insist, moving to sit on his belly, his hands moving to grab your hips as you sway slightly. “I’m gonna tell you, I’m gonna tell you how much I love you.” You nod as your hands move to rest on his chest. “I love your haaaiiirrr. It’s so soft and it tells me how you’re feeling. Like, I can tell now that you’re happy because its greeeeen.” You move a hand to stroke through his hair. “I love how when I play with it you purr and lean in for more.” Beej’s cheeks flush green when he realises that he was doing just that. “I love your lips because they feel so good against mine and when you smile it just makes me smile because I know you’re happy.”

“Stop it babes, you’re makin’ me blush.”

“Nooooo. Let me finish!” You cover his mouth with your hand. “I’ll gag you if I gotta.” You can faintly hear him mumble that he’d like to see you try, but you ignore it. “I love your voice, it’s so gravely, it sends tingles up my spine every time I hear it. And your  _ eyes _ , your eyes Beej.” You lock eyes with him and you melt slightly. “They make me feel so soft, I can tell everything you’re thinking from them and I love that you are so expressive through them.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, his nose and finally, his mouth. “I love how passionate you are, how creative and mischievous you are. I love how funny you are and how you put a bit of fun in everything you do. I love being able to just laugh with you. I love how soft you are, perfect for cuddling, and how we can just hide under the blankets and not move for hours. I love how you look out for me and let me look after you. I love how you try to learn about breather things so you can help me function. I love how you make me feel and I hope I make you feel the same way because, God Dammit/Satan Bless It, Beetlejuice I love you more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” 

Beetlejuice shifts under your gaze. “You’re drunk babes, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Not that drunk.” You challenge. You snuggle down onto his chest, holding onto the lapels of his jacket tightly. “You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to, I just want you to know how I feel.”

The sounds of your snores greet him before he can even begin to respond. He sighs, slides the both of you up the bed and covers the both of you in blankets. You can deal with the uncomfy clothes and makeup in the morning.

He couldn’t sleep. Not with all that information running through his head. He looks down at you and, for the first time in a long time, finally acknowledged the feelings brewing inside of him.

For the first time ever, he realised that he loved you too.

He didn’t tell you the next morning, deciding to keep that to himself until the right moment arrived. But it never seems to come. Months passed and finally, it happened.

Your first major fight.

He can’t even remember what started the fight, he only knew that you were wrong. Him storming out of the house wasn’t him being dramatic either, even if you shouted at him as he stormed off into the night.

The whole fight was stupid, he was sure about that. And now, because of that stupid fight, he was now lost in the dark with nowhere to go.

It wasn’t like he left the house often, he had no reason to. But now he was seriously regretting that fact. Sure, he could just demon magic his way home, but he wanted to be left to his thoughts and, more importantly, leaving you to stew over your actions.

He groans as he kicks up the dirt under his feet. You’d been unofficially dating for about a year now, it had been over eighteen months since he first was summoned to your house. It took a lot of getting used to, the two of you, adjusting to each other's odd behaviours and mannerisms. You nearly had a heart attack when you watched Beej chug a full bottle of bleach and refused to even kiss him until he had at the very least washed his mouth out with something that wouldn’t poison you.

Beetlejuice shakes his head, trying to remove the memory from his mind. He’s pissed at you. He’s gonna stay pissed at you until you apologise and if you didn’t, he was going to leave. Because perhaps that’s what he wanted. He did say that to you, didn’t he? He must have meant it then. Surely.

When he gets to a crossroads, he can’t help but laugh. How fitting, seeings he himself was at one in his life right now. He sits on the log made into a chair by the side of the road, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. It seemed to be going in circles, not quite able to make up its mind. On one hand, he hated that you fought and felt like he should take the blame, on the other, it was all your fault and you caused the argument.

He was conflicted. He also knew that part of the argument was his fault. He had been hiding his feelings and thoughts from you and you could  _ tell _ and it was beginning to frustrate you. Ever since he realised that he loved you, completely, fully, without fault. He doesn’t like it when he feels, it consumes every cell in his body, no half-assing it, just completely and utterly that emotion. It’s exhausting. It’s all your fault he’s like this.

He hates it. He loves it. He’s split down the middle and he doesn’t know how to handle it. He groans again, louder this time as he rubs his face. He really fucked up. He doesn’t even have somewhere to go, at least not long term. He’s positive that, even if Lydia was excited to see him again, the Deetzes and the Maitlands would not want him to stay long, if at all, at their place. Even if they were okay with it (which they wouldn’t be), the house didn’t feel welcoming. Not anymore. He’d feel more like a squatter, a nuisance, a pest than he did before. The Neitherworld is cold and barren, that place was never welcoming for him, and he’d rather stay as far away from his mother as possible thank you very much.

He’d never really had a home, he always drifted and never stayed for long, even after being summoned. Lyds was the longest he stayed for besides you and even then it just felt like an extended sleepover rather than a home.

He doesn’t get the emphasis of wanting a home. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s perfectly content with his nomadic ways, but the more he tries to convince himself that he should just up and go, the more upset he becomes. He doesn’t  _ want _ to leave, but he can’t think of a good reason why he should stay.

Except.

You.

Through all the chasing in his mind, you keep coming up.

Every argument he came up with, you were always the rebuttal to stay. Even to himself, he tried to claim that he hated all the domestic shit, you always making a second meal even if he didn’t eat it, just being able to hold you as you watch TV together - both of you making wisecracks at every opportunity. He hated that you thought of him and sent him at least five pictures of the dogs you saw on the way to work and that you always sent him voice messages reminding him that you loved him, even though he was yet to grow the balls to repeat the sentiment. He hated that when you came home, you would just throw yourself in his arms and held on for dear life until the stress from the outside world had left your body and that you would always climb into his nest he had set up next to the couch for when you were away and use that to comfort yourself whenever he wasn’t around. He hated that you’d send selfies of your stupid, beautiful, smiling face and he hated how you always complimented and thanked him whenever he did something for you. He hated that the one time he got so drunk he started talking about Juno, you listened quietly before grabbing his face with your hands and peppering his face with kisses, telling you that she spoke nothing but horseshit and if she took one step into your home, you’d kill her yourself or die trying. He laughed at that and reminded you that she was dead, to which you simply shrugged and told him you’d try anyway. He hated that every one of his little quirks you just looked at him before nodding and telling him ‘if it’s a part of you, I love it. Just. Don’t kiss me until you’ve got all the glass out of your mouth please?’ and moved on, and that you were always there to hold him under the table during a thunderstorm or when the roof started to leak. He hated the fact that you made him feel warm and loved and cared for and every day when you walked through that door after work, it felt like his whole world had turned on like you brought the light back into an otherwise dark and empty room.

Fuck.

He didn’t hate it.

He loved it.

The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. Home isn’t a place, it's a person. You were home.

He stands up quickly and starts to make his way back, he’s gotta tell you. Before you leave him like everyone else he managed to scare away.

You were frantic, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, trying your best not to pull your hair out. You screamed at him because he ate the last of your favourite snack. And it blew out of proportion. Work had been stressful and it was the last little thing to push you over the edge. But still. You screamed at him, and told him to leave, because of a snack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,  **fuck** !” You collapse into the chair as you hold your head in your hands. You fucked up, completely and utterly fucked up. You groan lowly as you try to think where he would have gone, and how to bring him back. Summoning him felt wrong like you were trapping him here. You had no idea where he would go to, though, he rarely left the house. He preferred to hide away here rather than be overwhelmed with the busy city you lived in. The more you think about it, the more anxious you become. Is he lost? Is he ok? Is he-

You jump when there is a loud pounding at the door. On the off chance it was Beej, you rush to it and fling it open. Sure enough, there was a panting demon at your door, dishevelled and a mess, hair a mix of blue, purple, pink and green as conflicting emotions seem to hit him all at once. The moment the door is open, he flings himself at you and crushes you against his body. “Beej, I-”

“I love you.” He cuts you off. You blink.

“What?”

“I love you.” He repeats as your heart skips a beat, him moving down to kiss you firmly. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” He says over and over again, lips meeting different parts of your face as he chants his declaration of love over and over. “I’m sorry I fucked up, but I love you, please God/Satan know that I do.”

“Bee, I know you love me.” You murmur against his lips when he pulls back from another kiss to your mouth. “I know it when you send me texts that remind me to eat and when you draw me silly little pictures for me to find in my lunch and when you pull me closer when you think I’m asleep but really I’m just waiting for you to latch onto me like the octopus we both know you are.” You list off. “I’m  _ sorry _ I shouted at you over a stupid, stupid snack. I shouldn’t of taken my frustration out on you.” You brush his hair back slightly as the blue and purple fades away to a bright pink and green combo. “Beej, I love you. So fucking much. I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You’re home.” He states bluntly. “I’ve never had a home before.” You feel tears well up in your eyes.

“You’re home for me too.” You tug him down for an intense kiss, slamming the door behind him as his hands move to grab at your waist. It was just the two of you, holding each other and knowing that you were both there. It was perf-

A loud clap of thunder breaks you from your thoughts as Beetlejuice jumps in shock, fear evident on his face. He still struggles with loud and unpredictable sounds. “Table?” You offer.

“Please.”

You both scoot under the small, rickety IKEA table as he climbs into your lap and snaps a large, weighted blanket over the two of you, his lips instantly meeting yours again as the rain starts to bucket down. “I love you.” He repeats once more. You smile down at him, knowing you’ll never grow tired of hearing him say that.

“I love you too.”


End file.
